


never were the honest type

by sandpapersnowman



Series: weekly mag fics i guess! [8]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Confessions, Gen, M/M, Missing Scene, almost? ish??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 18:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20644028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: (spoilers up to 151!)When Martin finds him looking over papers in Elias's office, Peter meets his presence with the same tight-lipped smile as always.It used to be intimidating. Threatening, even, as though interrupting Peter's solitude was something criminal.After his chat with Simon, though, Martin knows better.





	never were the honest type

**Author's Note:**

> i admittedly dont know how well i'll keep up with weekly fics now that bl3 is out but this was already mostly done and intended for 151 oop so! here it is!
> 
> title from the wombats' [Our Perfect Disease](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/wombats/ourperfectdisease.html)

When Martin finds him looking over papers in Elias's office, Peter meets his presence with the same tight-lipped smile as always.

It used to be intimidating. Threatening, even, as though interrupting Peter's solitude was something criminal.

After his chat with Simon Fairchild, though, Martin knows better.

"I want to make you a bet," Martin says, skipping any greeting.

Peter raises his eyebrows in interest.

"Go on. What bet?"

Martin locks the office door behind him and takes a brave step forward.

"I'd like to bet that you're just as sad and anxious as me," he begins. 

The lazy amusement on Peter's face shatters. His eyes go cold, shoulders tense, and Martin hears the pen in his hand creak with Peter's sudden, tightened grip.

"I don't know what you mean," Peter lies. 

"I bet you like being alone just because you're bad at talking to people, and you can't be ignored if nobody knows you're there in the first place."

"Martin —" 

"— You were raised into being _alone_," he continues. "I bet you didn't meet anyone outside of your family until you were an adult, and then the damage was already done, wasn't it? No turning back now."

"That's enough," Peter grits through his teeth. "I don't know who you've been talking to —"

"— and I bet you didn't think Simon Fairchild was going to spill all of your sad little secrets to me, either."

Martin takes a couple more steps forward to loom over Peter across the desk, trying to look sinister and daunting despite the fear in his throat.

"But I don't care about your shitty childhood or your lack of social development, Peter. I want to know exactly what your plan is. _Now_."

Martin finally quiets and gives Peter the chance to speak. Speak a truth, speak an answer, _anything_. 

Instead, Peter disappears right before his eyes.

Martin follows him into the Lonely. The cold shocks his system like jumping into a frozen lake, but he's accustomed enough to grab at Peter before he can get out of the office. He can pretend to be as mysterious as he wants, but Martin knows he is only ever in one of two places.

"Don't you dare run," Martin spits, yanking Peter's jacket. It skews his momentum perfectly, giving Martin the opportunity to rush forward and pin him to the wall by his shirt like a child bully. 

"Martin, it's too soon —"

"— Stop _lying_ to me," Martin yells. "You make up so many fucking excuses about what we're actually doing, but you told me my friends would be safe if I went along with it." He lets up on Peter's shirt just to slam him back again, and Peter's knocked-out breath gasps close enough for Martin to feel his hair flutter from it. "Then that obnoxious little mummy tells me you don't know if my friends will be safe, and actually, you don't know _anything_, either of you, so what _game_ are you playing?"

"I'm not playing any game," Peter lies, again.

"Why are you _here_?"

"For _you_."

Martin doesn't know if some bare thread of compulsion has found its way into the words, or if Peter's finally fessing up to whatever is going on. Either way, they both go still, and Martin becomes _very_ aware of how close he's pressed to Peter.

"What do you mean?" Martin asks cautiously.

"I owed Elias a favor. I agreed to step in and watch over the Institute if anything were to happen to him, but then _you_ were here,” Peter admits.

Martin keeps his fists bunched in Peter’s shirt, but distances himself by straightening his arms; Peter stays against the wall while Martin takes a step back.

“What do you _mean_?” Martin asks again, harsher.

“You are _overwhelming_,” Peter snaps. “Being around you feeds me the same way the Archivist has been feeding on others’ trauma, and it’s — you’re —”

Peter cuts himself off like he’s about to say something embarrassing, and Martin’s sure he was.

“That isn’t my problem,” Martin sneers, fighting back the heat creeping up his cheeks. “You can’t make that _my_ problem just because you want me to stick around like some… Some _snack_.”

Peter’s sheepish expression steels, going serious again.

“No, it’s — I’m not _only_ around for you,” Peter corrects. “I _stayed_ for you, at first, but you’re genuinely capable and an incredible asset to have against the Extinction. It’s still a problem I’d like you to help me solve, and your… Nutritional value? Is unrelated at this point.”

It’s hard to maintain his frustration when Peter is complimenting him, especially so earnestly.

He manages.

“So you don’t have any other ulterior motives you think I should know about?” Martin asks.

Peter looks between them too pointedly, gaze catching too long on Martin’s mouth pulled into a scowl, and his fake-easy smile returns.

“I don’t know,” Peter says, his tone implying something much less professional than Extinction plans or Institute business. “_Would_ you like to know about them?”

Martin finally backs away with a disgusted noise — not, unfortunately, because he’s never considered Peter in the same way, but disgusted because this is _not_ the time to bring up infatuations of any kind.

There’s wrinkles in Peter’s shirt from where Martin’s had him pinned, and he’s still leaning his weight against the wall like he expects Martin to come back and pin him again. It’s not a bad view at all, Martin thinks, which is his cue to put himself in a different room.

Martin walks past him to get to the door.

“No more secrets,” Martin scowls, hand resting on the handle but not turning yet. “I mean it, Peter. _None_.”

Peter puts his hands up in fake surrender.

“None,” he agrees. “I promise.”

He’s not sure if he believes him, but.

Well. It’s better than nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> i just wanted this POSTED lm aO


End file.
